The Beginning of a New Era
by Sarlar
Summary: Decades after his victory over Miraak, while journeying through Aetherius in search of something new to learn, Gjalder Rage-Eye is suddenly pulled off of his path through the Outer Spheres by some strange, swirling green vortex, and wakes up in chains in a damp cell, with a woman yelling at him in a language he doesn't speak. At least it is something new for him to do.
1. Prologue

_**A/N**_ **Please note that this is my very first fanfic, and that i, while fluent in english, do still have a bit of difficulty with some words! I was also using a pretty bad program for the first two chapters! Onwards and upwards!**

 _ **The Beginning of a New Era**_

Chapter 1

(Prologue)

Gjalder looked around the house - manor, really - that he had built with his own two hands. " _Well_ ," he thought, " _that and copious amounts of magic and use of the Thu'um_."

Even after all this time, the power of the Voice still fascinated him, such ancient power, tied to the soul. To dragons. To him. Oh, he had come a long way, a very long way indeed, since the time he had been but another starry-eyed adventurer, looking for a way to make a living, using nothing but his mind and his skills in battle.

It felt like it had been so long, yet it could hardly be more than twenty years, since he finished what he thought of as his last "Great Adventure". Granted, it had been a magnificent one, defeating the First Dragonborn at the Summit of Apocrypha, finally facing off against someone he truly thought of as an equal. It had been the hardest fight of his life, and easily one of the most enjoyable. Not even what those who called themselves his "kins-men", called the "Final Battle, Worthy of Song, of Honor, and of Shors Glory", in Sovngarde came close. After all, Alduin was simply following the directions of their Father. Why should he take pleasure, or worse yet, claim glory, for murdering his brother? Yet it was a task that had to be done.

He had been in a dark place afterwards, with so many congratulating him on slaying the World-Eater, all of Skyrim celebrating his actions. His despicable actions. He hadn't known what to do with himself afterwards, until he decided to walk the Seven Thousand Steps again, to speak with the greatest teacher he had ever met.

The ancient Dovah, Paarthurnax.

As he made his way to the top of the sacred mountain, and finally saw his old master, he realised, with a wry smile, that it was exactly one year ago he had defeated his brother, and returned his soul to their father.

He needed Paarthurnax' helped, badly. He hoped the old one would put him on the path of healing, even if he could not make things better that instant.

He had not expected the Dov to be as melancholic about the day as he was, after all, Paarthurnax had betrayed Alduin millenia ago, to mortals how to wield the Thu'um, and then later, in the Way of the Voice.

But it made sense, he supposed. After all, Gjalder truly hated Alduin for what he had done, and had never met his brother but for in the moments where they tried - vehemently - to kill each other. Paarthurnax, on the other hand, had known him since well before Atmora froze over.

In the end, Gjalder stayed at the peak of the Throat of the World for a year, simply discussing philosphy with the old being, before he decided to make his way back down to what he called "The Lowlands".

Once he returned however, he found that vampires had begun attacking settlements and towns, even Hold capitals at night, and the pace of their attacks was increasing rapidly.

Gjalder would not stand for this. He would not let the world he had killed his brother for perish, not to some bloodsucking scum. He vowed, then and there, at the foot of the great mountain, that the orchestrator of the attacks would fall, and that whoever it was, would feel terror at the name of Gjalder Rage-Eye before it was done.

And so Gjalder set out, on his next great adventure, finding the woman who would quickly go on to become his greatest friend, and closest confidante, Serana, and together they put a stop to her fathers insane plan to extinguish the sun, and plunge the world into everlasting night.

After this, Serana, while saddened by the loss of her father, was not as hurt, not as _broken_ as Gjalder had been, the previous year. She decided to leave her friends side, for a while, to wander the world beyond Skyrim, to see what had changed in the thousands of years she had slumbered away.

Gjalder chose this time, to start studying the deeper nature of Magicks, and of Shouts in particular, going so far as to start creating his own Shouts, something that had only been accomplished by two other mortals before him, an ancient Tongue, who created the Dragonrend Shout, to weaken Alduin, and the First Dragonborn, Miraak.

For two years Gjalder traveled the peaks, valleys and forests of Skyrim and High Rock, until one day he was accosted by a pair of strangers in strange clothing, with masks that looked to be carved from bone in the likeliness of the Dragon Priests of old, calling him a false Dragonborn, and trying to murder him for their master.

The rest, as it is said, is history.

Gjalder had used the last twenty years to plunge ever deeper into the secrets of the Arcane, both of Aetherius, the Aedra and the Magne-Ge, and of Oblivion, the infinite reaches and the sixteen Princes that ruled the Greater Planes.

It had come to the point, where Gjalder could physically enter Oblivion, something no mortal before him had done without the aid, accidental or otherwise, of a Daedric Prince.

It was whilst beyond the Liminal Barriers that protected Mundus from the Immaterial, that he suddenly felt a tugging upon his soul, something that had never happened before, and was in an instant pulled away from his path in the Void-That-Lies-Between, to some strange, swirling vortex of green.

The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him, was a strange looking creature, with large eyes, and long, pointed ears. Yet it looked like no Mer he had ever seen before.


	2. A Gloomy Place

_**The Beginning of a New Era**_

Chapter 2

 _ **A Gloomy Place**_

Gjalder woke slowly, without opening his eyes, without giving even a hint that he was conscious, as he had trained himself to do when he joined the Thieves Guild.

He could feel the particular type of cold, that was only present beneath the ground, in rooms built with rough-hewn stone. In other words, he was in a cell. He could hear the breathing of _joor_ around him, feel the cold iron of chains around his legs and ankles, the wood clasped soundly around his wrists. A prisoner, then.

A most unusual way for him to wake up, to say the least, if one that _had_ happened a few times before. He decided to organise his memories, of what had happened up to this point, until whoever had him captive revealed themselves.

Something that took less time than expected, he was apparently less circumspect about waking up than he thought. Some Imperial looking woman with a scar on her left cheek suddenly stood before him, angrily half-shouting at him in some peculiar tongue he had not heard before.

He couldn't help but be a little interested at that, he thought he knew all languages spoken in Tamriel, both current and older. He'd spent years on it, damnit!

At his confused look, she suddenly stopped, looked at him, and said a single word in her strange language. "Pree-soo-naar". He wondered if it was her name. Strange name, but then again, he was called Rage-Eye, so he couldn't really judge.

She then shouted at him again, in that angry tone, with that scowl on her face. Gjalder just put up a confused look, not that it was that hard, and tilted his head a little to the side, saying "What?" in common Tamrielic.

That seemed to take the wind out of her sails. She stopped shouting, and then made a sound, that he was quite certain meant "Oh." Heh. That never got boring.

Then she started speaking the same language, but much more slowly, as if that would help him understand. " _Eight and One, is she an idiot?_ " Gjalder thought to himself, until he finally had enough of her gibberish and simply looked away, bored with the situation.

Then came the slap. She didn't seem like she was used to being ignored. At least not by prisoners. The slap though, it showed him a great deal. He could feel the power she restrained when she hit him, how she specifically didn't move certain ways, so as to put less power behind it.

The mark of a trained warrior, and one who was not used to torture.

He just laughed at her for her actions, and for the insight she gave him. Never could have enough knowledge about his enemies. Or friends. He'd been betrayed enough that the amount of people he truly trusted could be counted on one hand, and even then, you could chop off some fingers.

When he lifted his head though, she froze in shock. She stuttered something out. "Iii-eeees". No clue what that meant, but he could guess. He'd seen the reaction countless times by now. One would think that something like silver eyes, that seemed to glow a little, would be talked about in all the other tall tales about him back home, but it never was. Too bad. He thought of it as one of his most striking features. After all, who knew of someone with _silver eyes, without pupils_? It was unique.

In the end, the shouty-scar-woman left him alone, save for the guards who started fidgeting a little, whispering to each other in hushed tones.

"Aaa-boooomb-eeee-naa-tjooon". "Deee-man". Other things like that. In the end, Gjalder decided that if they were going to be so rude as to speak another tongue and leave him alone with the guards, he would just take a nap.

He had no clue how long he had been asleep, but he suddenly woke up as the door to his cell opened. The guards had been replaced it seemed, and he was rather refreshed, so he assumed it had been a few hours. He slept so rarely these days. Having the soul of a Dovah seemed to make it so he didn't need to do a great many things other people needed to do. Sleep, eat and drink chief amongst them. Oh, he still needed some, but unless he was using a great deal of energy, he could normally get by with an hour or two of sleep per month, and a meal once a week.

A woman entered through the door, with some strange, green mark on her hand, flaring up every now and then. She looked... Familiar, though he could not quite place it. Then, as she turned her head to say something to one of the guards, her dark hair fell from her ears, and he remembered. The strange elf he'd seen, just as he fell unconscious.

" _ **Fahliil**_ " he said, " _ **Vir zurun hi fon, fos los hi?**_ " the cell trembled softly, almost imperceptibly, as he controlled the power in his words carefully.

She looked at him, clearly not understanding what he said. Gjalder could not hold back the sigh at the look. She responded with more words in her tongue, until she realised he did not understand a thing she had said.

In the end, she simply pointed at herself, then said in a clear tone "Ellana". Then she gestured at him. At his silence she repeated the word, and the gesture.

She wanted him to tell her his name, he supposed. Well, he was never one for rudeness, or for refusing a show, so he stood up, as much as he could, bound at his arms and legs, before he thumped his chest and said "Gjalder."

She repeated his name, almost seemed to taste it, before she made a gesture at the guards, and gave them some orders, he assumed. They certainly looked deferential towards her. Very much so. Curious. In Tamriel there were few humans that would show such respect to an Elf.

He was so distracted by this, that he only noticed that the chains around his legs had been removed when one of the guards pushed him slightly, earning the man a glare. The woman, Ellana, gestured for him to follow her out of his cell, and up the stairs beyond.

They entered out into a large hall above his cell, which screamed temple to him, yet none of the religious icons made any sense to him, all being of some woman, as well a stylised sun.

In the end, she took him outside, to a view that managed to take his breath away.

There, far away, high in the sky, was a green... _Hole_. In the sky. Rocks floated in the clouds, all the way from the ground and to the hole itself.

He took an involuntary step towards it, only to be stopped by the guards. The woman reached up to touch his shoulder, and when she got his attention she pointed at it, and said "Breach". Gjalder repeated the word. Breach. Did it mean hole? No one around them seemed to like the thing, seeing as how most only took stolen glances to thing, eyes full of fear.

So they, at least, thought it was bad. There was suddenly a commotion further down from him, and he finally tore his gaze away from the hole in the sky, to see that he was standing in a village that would not have looked too out of place in Skyrim, or some of the secluded areas of High Rock, covered in snow.

The commotion, he saw, was from the angry-shouty-woman making her way up to them, near the temple, closely followed by another one of these strange elves, except this one was obviously male, and completely bald.

Gjalder looked at the man in amusement, as he couldn't help but think of an egg when he saw the bald one. His damn head _shone_ , yet nobody seemed to care. Oh well.

 **Solas PoV**

Solas had felt the power suddenly unleashed from the chantry, and had started to make his way there immediately, only to be halted first by those damned guards at the gates of Haven, and then by the Seeker.

"We must find a way to seal the Breach, Solas, Lavellans actions may have stopped it from growing, and the demons have stopped falling from the sky, but reports keep coming in of new Rifts appearing despite what we did in the ruins of the Temple." She said.

"I know this Seeker, but we simply do not have the power needed to do such a thing, if it can even be done at all. I have cast my dreams wide in the Fade, to find out as much about the matter as i can, but the fact remains. We cannot close it at this time." Solas was starting to get exasperated. Yes, she was no mage, but could she not feel the very ground tremble earlier? She was trained in spotting magic, yet did not notice such a display? Suddenly the Seekers attention was drawn to something else, and he followed her gaze to see Ellana, whom the men had started to refer to as "The Herald of Andraste", standing outside the chantry next to a very large man in chains.

"What is he doing out of his cell!" The Seeker suddenly shouted, and started storming up to the top of the hill. Solas sighed, but at least she had cleared a path to his destination.

When he got up there, Seeker Cassandra had already started going off on the Herald for bringing the prisoner out, a display that could make most bow down and retreat, and had certainly left the Herald looking a bit sheepish, but the man, this stranger with the silver eyes and the scar across his face, in what appeared to be a large claw mark, simply looked amused. " _He certainly bears watching_ ", Solas thought.

The Seeker seemed to notice this, and started turning her attention towards the man, who simply responded to the tirade being brought upon him with a chuckle, and then interrupted the Seeker, saying something in a different language.

Seeing the Seekers face darken at this, Solas decided to break in, "Perhaps it would be best to make sure we can communicate with this stranger, before we do anything further? So far, he has been nothing but cooperative, despite you treating him almost exactly like the Herald, only for a great deal more time." Cassandra shot him a glare at his argument, but before she could say anything, Ellana butted in, saying "I have to agree with Solas on this Cassandra, when i took him out of his cell he seemed just as confused and mystified by the Breach as all the rest of us, and he has done nothing towards the Inquisition, except to be unconscious next to me when the Breach opened."

Ellanas words seemed to deflate Cassandras arguments, so she simply shot a glare towards the prisoner, and then one to Solas himself, before making a disgusted noise and saying "Fine! Guardsmen, give me the key to his shackles!"

The guard, quick to obey her orders lest he be the new target for her ire, almost dropped the key in his haste to please her. When Cassandra took the key, and started going towards the prisoner however, he simply let out a dry laugh, and then pulled the wood binding his wrists together apart, before reaching down and tearing the rest of the chains that bound him off of him.

At everyones sudden surprised looks, the man just laughed, and Solas couldn't keep back a chuckle of his own, enjoying the display, both of power and patience. It was obvious in the carefree manner he had destroyed his bindings that he could have done so at any time, yet had chosen to remain in the cell.

As soon as the chuckle left his lips however, he controlled himself again, and quickly took control of the situation, before the Seeker started going off again.

"Now then, i'll take him with me, find him a place to sleep, and get him some food, then i will start teaching him the common ongue. If you need me Seeker, Herald, you know where to find me. Dareth Shiral."

Solas quickly led the stranger away, over to the small hut where he slept, quickly gesturing for the man to stay put, while he found him something to eat.

When Solas returned, he found the man looking through one of his books, tracing the letters with a finger, before he looked up at Solas, and accepting the bowl of stew.

It didn't take long for the man to finish his meal, or the ale that came with it, and when he did, Solas set about teaching him the common tongue of southern Thedas.

He was delighted to learn that the big man was much more intelligent than he looked, and when they retired for the night, the man ignoring Solas' offer of using his bed, choosing instead to go outside to sleep under the stars, despite vehement protests from Solas, who in the end caved in, and had some blankets brought to keep the man from freezing to death in the night. Solas thought that they might already start simple sentences at afternoon the next day, and with those thoughts, he let the Fade embrace him, slipping into the Fade, and the troubled dreams that came from the Breach.


	3. Of Words and Weapons

_**The Beginning of a New Era**_

Chapter 3

Of Words and Weapons

Gjalder had spent the last few days studying the local language with the Egg, as he thought of him, or Solas, as he introduced himself, and he was starting to get annoyed. It had never taken him this long to be able to converse in a different language. Granted, he had never had to learn a new tongue without his teacher speaking _something_ that he already knew, so there were… Extenuating circumstances.

But, once he started being able to speak with the people in the village, which he had learned was called Haven, he started asking questions. Primarily about where his arms and armor were located. Every time he asked however, he was met with a shrug, or an "I don't know," mumbled under their breath.

He started getting annoyed at this. He had worn some of his favorite armor, a beautiful set of near-perfectly forged Ebony, with silver runes inlaid around each individual piece, which he had enchanted personally, and at great cost. Not to mention his mask, his masterwork, a mockery of the ancient Dragon Priests, more powerful than anything they had worn, even Miraak, which he had dubbed _Unazhaal_ , or _Unending_ in the lower tongue.

And that was before he considered the loss of some of his favored weapons, a cruel-looking Daedric style dagger, a pair of perfectly balanced longswords that he had, very originally, named Fang and Claw. And then there was his shield, oh, his shield. _Evgiir Unslaad_ , Season Unending, the old name for war, made of a single, massive piece of Ebony, infused with Dragons blood, and with silver inlays.

Yet, even with all of this, the urgency to find his equipment paled compared to the last artefact of Nirn he had carried. An Elder Scroll. If these _joor_ were to find it, the damage done could easily be catastrophic, both to them, and to the land around them. He could feel that there was something… Different about this land, compared to Skyrim. Something deep below the earth, and far above the clouds. He couldn't quite put his finger on _what_ though.

So, to put it mildly, Gjalder was starting to get rather pissed when nobody seemed willing to tell him where _his stuff_ was.

It all came to a head, when Gjalder went to confront the angry-shouty-lady, or, as he had been told her name was, in the middle of a minor laughing fit from Solas, Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast. If he was honest with himself, he would probably be at least as angry as she was if his name was so long and pompous.

It didn't take long for his stomping through Haven to bear results, as he saw her near the entry to the temple, or the "Chantry", as they called it.

" _ **Seeker!**_ I know you're here! Where are my belongings! Where are my arms! My armor? Where is my _**KEL**_!" He shouted at her. "Well," she said, "You certainly picked up the language quickly. As to your equipment and whatever this, 'Kel', of yours, they are being held until _I_ have determined that you are not a threat to the Inquisition, to the Herald or to the people of Haven!"

Gjalder glowered at her a little bit, until he, with a great deal of effort, schooled his frown and took control of his anger. "I understand your reasoning, Seeker," he said, forcing his voice to calm, "but I gained those items at great personal cost, and they are invaluable to me. I give you my word, I do not intend for any harm to come to the people of Haven, or to the Inquisition. So, I request, from one warrior to another, to return my belongings to me."

Cassandra was about to answer, with a resolute 'No!', when a woman's voice suddenly spoke up from behind her, "Give it up Cassandra! The man has done nothing to harm us, and even Leliana said that he was unlikely to be a spy, not knowing our language and with that kind of gear." The elf who'd spoken walked out of the chantry behind Cassandra, shaking her head with a wry smile.

Cassandra glared at the smaller woman for a bit, before she relented with a "As you wish, Herald. You there!" she shouted at a suddenly startled off-duty soldier, "Get the strangers things from the cell!" The man barely had time to recover before he quickly saluted the woman, marching off rapidly into the chantry, and down into the cells below.

"I trust that will be fine?" She asked Gjalder, who simply looked at her for a little while, before answering an emotionless "As long as all of my items are there, I see no reason to complain."

It didn't take the man long to come back up empty handed however, quickly whispering something into the Seekers ear. "Something wrong, Pentaghast?" Gjalder inquired, with a dark undertone to his voice. "None whatsoever," she replied with a fresh glare, before giving the soldier a new order, and gestured for another one to join him.

Soon after the two men came out of the chantry, huffing and puffing, clearly struggling with the trunk they carried between them. Cassandra took a key from somewhere beneath her light, off-duty armor, but before she managed to take more than a single step towards the trunk Gjalder had already punched clean through thick oak wood of the lid, and ripped the thing apart with his bare hands, revealing his armor and weapons.

"Finally," he said, under his breath, "I've been feeling naked since I woke up without this! If you will excuse me ladies, I have something I need to put on." He said, and then walked off without another look, easily carrying the trunk, that two professional soldiers had trouble moving together, under a single arm, moving quickly towards Solas's shack.

Gjalder quickly moved into the shack, and then checked the trunk thoroughly, making sure all of his belongings, including the Elder Scroll were there. After he was satisfied, he started pulling on his armor, feeling the comfortable weight settle down around him, and the enchantments upon start flowing through it. ' _Time to get to work_ ', he thought to himself as he strapped his blades and shield onto himself and put his mask on his belt next to the dagger, where he could quickly grab it and put it on.

Not long after, he started looking for the tavern. He had been here, for what, a few weeks? And the most he'd had to drink was a single mug of ale when Solas had brought him food that first day out of his cell.

He needed to show these milk-drinkers just what a proud Nord could do. Even if he preferred good wine to ale or mead.

He quickly found the place, even in this strange land you could always find a drinking-den by following the noise and lights, quickly leaving the cold behind for the warmth of a roaring hearth.

Once he was inside, he made a beeline for a – thankfully empty, why was it so crowded for so early in the day? – spot at the bar.

He'd barely even planted himself on one of the stools there before a voice came out from next to him. "Heeey, it's you! The guy with the weird stuff who doesn't speak our language! How're you?" Gjalder looked to his side, surprised when finding no one there, before he looked further down. A dwarf. Curious. Obviously not related to the dwarves of Tamriel in any way, the Dwemer would likely have been… Less than pleased to be confused with a being like this. The figure went on, "I'm Varric Tethras, writer, businessman, tag-along and unfortunately, occasional politician." The small one with the impressive chest hair said, introducing himself.

Gjalder eyed him for a moment, before deciding he might as well be polite, introducing himself, "Gjalder Rage-Eye, adventurer, researcher, some-time-hero and," he said, taking a swig from the mug that had been placed in front of him by the barkeep, "very disappointed by your liquor." The dwarf seemed amused by that last part. How droll.

"Yeah well, no offense Flissa, but this place isn't exactly The Hanged Man."

"Hmph! Thank the Maker it isn't! I've heard the stories about that place, and there is no way I am letting my establishment turn out like _that_!"

"Uhm, yeah, sorry Flissa," Varric said, looking like he got caught with his foot in his mouth at her reaction, turning to Gjalder, "So, Silver, got any good stories to tell from wherever you're from?"

Gjalder and Varric proceeded to spend the night talking about various adventures they had been part of, Gjalder keeping some of the most… Outlandish ones, to himself. Primarily any involving magic, he'd seen how Solas was treated because he was both a mage and an elf.

When they finally left, deep into the night, Gjalder took a moment to breathe in the cool mountain air, and to look upon the sky. What he saw however, chilled his bones.

Masser and Secunda were missing. Instead, there was a small white dot, far, far away. Where was he? He'd assumed that he was just thrown to some strange part of Nirn, but the lack of the moons… He'd have to investigate this. Thoroughly.

 **So, that was chapter 3. Took a while. Longer than the others. Writing is harder than I thought. Who knew. Anyways.**

 **Thanks to both of you who reviewed the first two chapters! It means a lot. Cliché to say, I know, I know, but still true. Now, Zack, as to your statements, I know that the Dragonborn is mortal, but there is quite a few times in lore where mortals, mainly powerful mages, become immortal. Divayth Fyr, Orghnum, Abnur Tharn and Mannimarco (who was weird because of the whole Warp in the West thing) chief amongst them, as well as the Nerevarine (granted though, that is due to Corprus), and most of the other misconceptions I'm gonna go ahead and blame on a faulty memory, Gjalder's arrogance, the fact that reality in the Elder Scrolls universe is malleable when it comes to belief, what with the whole 'Mantling' thing, where people fitting the criteria, and then other people believing a certain thing makes it come true. I should really brush up on my Elder Scrolls lore if I should write fanfiction about it. Oh well.**


	4. Shouts and Bouts

_**Beginning of a New Era**_

Chapter Four

Shouts and Bouts

Gjalder didn't know how long he'd stared at the moon – _moon_ not moons – before he heard the sound of the snow crunching behind him. Hours, at a guess, with how much the damned thing had moved. He knew who it was. He hadn't spoken to her yet, but he'd seen her often enough, and been close enough to know her without looking. Granted, the Mark on her hand, what her followers thought to be the grace of their deity, had a _very_ unique feel to it and helped greatly.

"Herald, it is quite an honor for the chosen of a God to come speak with me. To what do I owe the pleasure? And so late at night. One might think you had less than honorable intentions for me." He said with a wry laugh.

"Well, I'd like to know the people who stand out around here. That and to check and make sure that you received all of your things." There was an ethereal quality to her voice, very different compared to how the Mer of Tamriel – Mundus he supposed – sounded.

"There is no need to worry, Herald. All of my belongings are accounted for, even the ones dangerous to others. Heh. Especially them. Wouldn't have been good if some of your men got their hands on my Kel." He could just imagine the uproar that would have happened had some fool actually tried to _read_ the damn thing. Elder Scrolls were so very very dangerous, even to the initiated. In the hands of the uninitiated, the destruction could have been catastrophic. Even if chances where they would either write themselves out of time on accident, go blind or mad, he didn't want it unsupervised. Eight and One knew it had happened a few times in the war. _Joors_ and Elder Scrolls did not mix.

Wait. His Elder Scroll. It was specifically about _time_. As much as it grated his pride, not even he could learn a complete language in such a short amount of time, when he and his instructor had no way of verbally communicating. But with an Elder Scroll, he could increase the speed at which he learned the language without anyone, including him in the past, noticing. Or maybe just use it to send his "current" knowledge of the language to him in the past. His soul was Dovah, and even _he_ couldn't figure out one end from the other when it came to the damn Scrolls.

She started speaking, jarring him from his thoughts, dragging him back to the present, "You seemed quite concerned about it earlier, even more so than about your other items. What is it? Is it some kind of magical artifact?"

"Heh, you might say that. Elder Scrolls are a… Difficult subject to describe, to say the least. My people call them _Kel_ , Time-Bones. It is the easiest description I can think of for them. And the safest." He took a breath, "Studying them is a dangerous affair, they defend themselves, you might say, and the knowledge within them."

"Oh? What would have happened if someone read it?" She couldn't help herself. They sounded so _fascinating_. Especially if what he said was true.

"If we were lucky, whatever foolish soul decided to read it would be stricken blind before gaining any knowledge from it. They often break the minds of the unprepared, making them gibbering wrecks. Theoretically, they could wipe the reader from Time itself."

"Oh." That sounded very bad indeed. "So how do they work?"

"Elder Scrolls are, how to put it, physical manifestations of time. Recorded within are prophecies, though getting to those prophecies is difficult." He mulled over how to explain it, before thinking of old Septimus Signus, the mad follower of Herma-Mora he'd met in the Sea of Ghosts, so long ago. Maybe a little insane inspiration was warranted. "Think of Time as a road. Everyone on the road represent a different future. Some minute, some major. They all come from somewhere, heading somewhere else. From the past, to the future. Every choice anyone makes, no matter how insignificant, a new traveler appears on the road. A new possible future." He could see she was getting disoriented. Oblivion, _he_ was getting disoriented, and he was one of the most accomplished scholars on the Scrolls alive!

He might as well continue on. "Everything you know, is all part of one of these travelers. You cannot see beyond the cart you are in, you might say. The Elder Scrolls, however, look at _everyone_ on the road, at the same time. They also look both up and down the road. Into the past and the future. Mortals cannot handle this kind of information, and so the body often blinds itself unless properly prepared, or the mind shatters to protect itself."

Ellana had heard enough. Maybe not enough to understand, but enough to be frightened. She didn't know if what he said was true, or if he was simply stark-raving mad. "Well then. I guess we should keep everyone away from wherever we get you set up. I will ask Cullen to arrange for someone to watch over it at all times. I'd do myself, but I have to depart. I'm going to the Hinterlands, to help the refugees there, and to try and stop the fighting between mages and templars in the area."

Gjalder looked up at this. _Leave an Elder Scroll_? In the care of someone else? Never. But this place she was going to leave for, the Hinterlands? It sounded like it needed help.

And never let it be said that he wasn't willing to aid those in need. The greatest driving force behind most of his adventures. The second being gaining power. His soul demanded that he always grow. It wasn't difficult to reach a decision.

"If I may, Herald, I would like to offer my assistance in the Hinterlands, and if all goes well, beyond. I have never been one to stand idly by when others are endangered, and I would not start now."

Ellana was quite surprised by this, she hadn't even thought of the fact that he might want to join up. "Are you sure? You only just learned our language, and you don't know anything about us."

Gjalder chuckled, saying "Oh I'm quite certain my dear. I have been listening when people have been talking, and you are not doing too well. But you are also the only group I know of that is actually doing something to help. I might leave later, depending on other circumstances, but until then, you have my blade. Well, my _blades_ if you want to get technical." It was always fun to be a bit pedantic.

"Well, while I won't say no to extra help, I have no idea how good you are at the whole fighting thing. How about a quick training match first?" She was not going to bring someone with her and the others into the field if they couldn't pull their own weight. Strangely, the large human looked _pleased_ at her doubting his skills.

"Heh, it's always good to make an unknown prove their worth before taking them out to fight. Who do you want me to spar with?" He was impressed. Oh certainly, she was young and inexperienced, but she was intelligent and learned quickly. He wondered how many life-or-death fights she'd been in though.

"I think Cassandra would rip my head off if I didn't let her have the opportunity to knock you around a little." She said with a face splitting grin.

The next day Gjalder stood in front of Cassandra, wearing ill-fitting armor and wielding a poorly balanced sword.

"Come on Silver!" a voice rang out from the small crowd that was gathering. After all, getting to watch the tall stranger being beaten around by Seeker Cassandra wasn't something you'd get to see every day. Gjalder recognized the voice, it was Varric, the amusing dwarf he'd met at the tavern. "I got a good bit of money riding on this little match of yours, don't let me down!" Gjalder was quite certain the match would be equal. Oh, certainly, he was a master of most forms of combat, but he hadn't trained properly in years, focusing on exploring Aetherius, of uncovering mysteries and ancient knowledge, and finding out new things himself. He knew he'd come to rely too deeply on magic and shouts compared to a regular warrior. It would be good to have a purely physical fight again, no matter the outcome.

And Cassandra was certainly skilled with a blade, although she preferred fighting defensively, letting her opponents strike at her heavy armor and shield until the left an opening. A valid strategy.

"Alright, if both of you are ready," Ellana announced, having appointed herself as the arbiter of the match, "Three, two, one, fight!"

And the fight was on.

Cassandra was, if anything, an even better fighter than he'd thought, taking less of his hits directly on her armor and dodging them expertly. Clearly adaptable to new situations. Good. If he was going to fight with someone, he preferred if they could adapt. It was such an overlooked skill. His fights had often been decided because of him changing his tactics. This one would be harder, he realized. Much more enjoyable.

Every strike with his blade was either met by her own, taken by her shield, or dodged. Then again, he did the same. He used his superior reach to strike at her where she couldn't retaliate, and used his shield in the way of his people, every bit as much a weapon as a blade or an axe. After all, if his opponent couldn't swing her sword because her arm was pinned to her side, he could quickly finish the fight.

She was full of surprises though, and was incredibly flexible when not in full plate armor. There was a joke in there somewhere, reach and flexibility.

It took three minutes before either of them managed to land a hit on the other, and to Gjalders surprise, it was Cassandras point. A _very_ enjoyable fight. It had been long since he had been marked.

Cassandra was hard pressed. The man was easily of one the best fighters she had ever faced. He never overextended himself unless it was a feint, always standing securely on his ground, far stronger than she'd thought, ruthless in every opportunity and he didn't seem to get tired.

 _There._ An opening. An actual one, he was not in a position to close it off, or use it as a trap. Her blade struck like a viper, even though it was a dull training blade it made a small cut on his left leg. ' _And the makings of a rather glorious bruise_ ', she mused.

Then he looked at her. His eyes seemed to _glow_ , and then, of all the things he could do, he started to _laugh_. Like he was _happy_ that he'd been hit.

They took up starting positions again, Cassandras breathing a little labored, but ready to fight.

The fight went on for another ten minutes, Cassandra scoring four more hits against him, while he only got one. She was a highly skilled warrior, no doubt about it.

And then, all of a sudden, he had an opening. Acting on instinct, he lashed out, his blade lashing out, hitting her right arm, just above the elbow. He barely realized what he was doing in time to alter his blow.

Instead of cutting in to her flesh, he managed to turn his blade so that the flat hit her with all the strength of his upper body. All the onlookers heard the loud _'CRACK'_ as her arm broke.

Cassandra let out a pained grunt, dropping her weapons, clutching her arm.

It happened fast enough that Cassandra was confused. One second she was attacking Gjalder, the next she was hunched over on the ground, clutching her broken arm. Before she could do more than let out a pained gasp, he was suddenly on the ground next to her. And his hands _glowed_ with a soft golden light.

"Don't worry Seeker," he mumbled, tearing her hand off of her broken arm where she'd cradled it, "I'll have it fixed soon enough.' A mage. The man was a mage. The next thing she knew, there was a soft trilling, like a songbird had taken up in his palms. The sound came from the light, she realized.

And then she felt a warmth move through her body, growing to the edge of pain at the broken bone. Then it went further. Her arm felt like it was on fire, the intensity of it increasing, growing unbearable. She knew if it didn't stop soon, she'd pass out.

And then, just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped. One moment to the next. And the pain was gone, completely.

"There you go Seeker. One fully healed arm."

What? While healing magic was certainly a thing, even if it had become less popular compared to barriers during the Mage-Templar war, but even that should not have worked so quickly. Or made it feel like her arm had been placed into a firepit.

Gjalder started readying his gear, Ellana had told him that he was officially allowed to go to the Hinterlands with them. It would take ten days for them to get there without horses, and once they arrived they didn't know how long it would take them to get what they came for. But they'd figure it out. The spymaster, Sister Nightingale as she was called – he always thought of Karliah and Brynjolf when he heard that word – scouts reported that there was ongoing battles between the Mages and Templars in the region. Likely something that the dear Herald would want to fix.

So. Ten days to get there, who knew how long it would take for them to fix all the problems in the area, and then five days to get back. They would probably be gone for more than a month. He couldn't hold back a sigh. He rather liked Haven. It reminded him of Riverwood in the winter. But before he left he had things to do. And an Elder Scroll to hide.

They would leave in the morning. It would be dark in an hour. He didn't have long. He took off, went down to the edge of the frozen lake, and took out the Scroll. Wasn't long now. He'd made a Shout for this specific purpose, but he hadn't had to use it before. A trial by fire.

He held out the Scroll, let it float in the air before him

" _ **KEL JOOR VONUN!"**_ He released the power of his soul. He saw the Scroll start to shimmer, and then he started to see _through_ it.

A smile blossomed on his face. It worked. One of, if not the most, theoretical Shouts he'd made worked.

Satisfied that no one would be able to find it, he returned to the lean-to he'd built next to Solas's shack. He still had preparations to do.

 **So, chapter 4. In case it isn't obvious to anyone but me (which would make sense) I am making this up as I go along. I think I generally want it to follow canon, but I don't know how much I'm going to alter it. Doesn't help that it's been a while since I played Inky.**

 **If you spot any spelling or grammatical errors, please please** _ **please**_ **point them out. That stuff is mortifying for me, and I want to get better.**

 **Also, the first Shout I made. Made it on the spot. Pretty proud. Ish. Essentially means "Hide From Mortals, Scroll!" I'm using as my translatey-thing, so any errors in Dovahzul is definitely not my fault. At all.**

 **The reason Gjalder can still sorta see it is because, to me at least, the Dragonborn is somewhere between mortal and immortal, soul-wise at least. My brother and I posit that this is why Vampires eyes are that neat glowy color in Skyrim, because you see beyond just the flesh of others, and see part of the soul. Because you are awesome. And that is why "Hide From Mortals" is only partially effective against himself. And because it is his magic.**

 **The healing stuff is because I can't actually remember ever hearing anything about how healing spells feel when used on someone in the Elder Scrolls universe, beyond knowing that they, lore-wise are mostly used for battlefield healing, or long-term stuff. Serious long-term stuff. If I remember correctly.**

 **Right! Should get to work on the next chapter. Or sleep. Sleep sounds good.**

 **Ninja Edit: Formatting apparently got fucked in uploading. I put in all these neat line-breaks and stuff to denote a change in perspective or locale. And then they were removed by the internets. Will try and remember to fix them later. For now, uhhh, whoops?**


	5. The Hinterlands

_**The Beginning of a New Era**_

Chapter Five

The Hinterlands

Gjalder was bored. The five of them had been traveling for the last ten days, and he knew they were close to their destination, the Fereldan Hinterlands, but he was still so incredibly bored. He'd hoped that the sights on the road would have been enough to keep him interested, what with this not being Nirn and all, but he was sorely disappointed. It was just like traveling through the forests of Falkreath in the summer, or the heartlands of Cyrodiil, just trees and deer. Nothing else.

Not even any bandits for them to fight. They had apparently decided to pull out of the immediate area due to the conflicts around some town called Redcliffe. If only the bandits back home had been so courteous as to do so when a war involving magic broke out.

Instead they got a massive increase in numbers every time a war broke out. And then _he_ would have to deal with them.

It got boring. Very quickly. As a result, Gjalder had precious little patience when it came to bandits. Unfortunately, it seemed that as soon as you chose to accost others for their hard-earned wealth, you lost a tremendous amount of intelligence.

' _Or perhaps_ ', he mused, ' _those who take to banditry were already functional morons._ ' One of life's greatest mysteries. Even if he personally leaned to the latter. It was no secret back home that he enjoyed hunting the filth down.

At least they were finally here. He may have spent a hundred days inside his armor once, but that did not mean it was always comfortable. How he longed to be clean from the dust and grime of the road.

"Alright everyone!" Ellana started gathering their attention, she and Cassandra had been spending the trip all but glued together, discussing and planning what they would do once they arrived, "We're almost at an Inquisition forward camp, where we will be resting for the night. Tomorrow I'm going to talk with the lead scout, and then we will see how we can help the refugees and get Mother Giselle, a well-respected figure in the Chantry to come back to Haven with us. Get some rest, we'll be setting out at dawn." And that was that.

At least he could finally get out of his armor. And Varric could teach him that card game he always spoke of, 'Wicked Grace'. It was something to pass the time.

Gjalder woke with a small gasp. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep. For some reason, he had to actually take care of his body in this world. It had been so long since he'd had to do that in Tamriel. Ten years, fifteen? He couldn't quite remember.

He could only conclude that the light of Aetherius did not shine as bright on Thedas as it did on Nirn. He wondered if the Anuic spirits and the Magna-Ge were even aware of this place.

He also woke with a feeling of resentment, he found out. Varric had been ruthless in teaching him Wicked Grace, and had taken quite a bit of money from him in the process.

It was no matter. They were finally here. Ellana had already gone to speak with the scout in charge, and would return soon with their orders. Hmph. Orders. He was a leader, and a loner, not a follower. But Ellana did have an air about her, which made him willing to at least give her a chance.

And by the Divines did she deliver.

In less than a day the village below their camp had been secured, now defended against rogue Templar and Apostate attacks by an Inquisition garrison, the Revered Mother from Orlais they had come to collect had joined, and the Horsemaster they wished to hire had chosen some of his best steeds for the Inquisitor and her party, as well as taking a goodly amount of his second-tier horses to Haven himself, where he would serve as the Inquisitions stablemaster.

And yet, Gjalder was still bored. He longed to fight. He _needed_ to fight. To control the area around him. The few struggles they had been in barely counted, what with Varrics strange crossbow, Solas and Ellana's magic, and his and Cassandra's physical prowess combined made short work of their enemies, be they man, mer or demon.

He hadn't even had to Shout yet. He wanted to see the look on Ellana's face when he did it. He was certain it would be _glorious_. _Joors_ , no Mortals, these ones at least were above the derogatory term of his kin, never handled him revealing his most unique talents well.

And now they were returning to Haven. Without him having had to Shout. At least he hadn't been forced to wield his more arcane powers, which he had no doubt would have been looked ill upon. These people had such a strange approach to magic.

They had been on the road for a day when he noticed it. The woods were too quiet, there were no birds singing, and they had not seen even a single deer since they departed the Hinterlands. Gjalder nudged his steed further up, so he could speak with Ellana at the front of their little party.

"Something is wrong." He said. "There are no animals around. I fear we may be walking into a trap."

Ellana frowned slightly at this, before covertly looking into the forest around them, finally being dragged away from her thoughts.

"I think you are right Gjalder, but whose trap, and for what purpo-" She didn't get to say anything else, as more than two dozen bandits suddenly sprang out from the forest around them.

"You'd better stop those horses right there knife-ear, if you value your life!" their leader, a very ordinary human with greasy brown hair and small eyes that sat too close ordered them. Or tried to, anyway.

Gjalder perked up quite quickly. They'd finally found some bandits. _Proper_ bandits, at any rate. Deserters weren't quite the same.

Before anyone from his party had time to react, he brought his horse forward, getting as many bandits as possible into a line in front of him.

"I hope you don't mind me taking over for this little escapade Ellana," he said to the elf, quietly, "but I can finally get to show you something _thrilling_."

Ellana barely had time to look confused at his words, before he looked at the bandit leader and his men, wielding the Thu'um against them. " _ **QETH KREN BO!**_ " he roared at them, noticing the audible 'CRACK' that came from the bandits hit by his Shout.

Ellana and the others looked confused and startled, which swiftly changed to nausea and disgust, as white slivers started emerging from the skin of several bandits, who had fallen to the ground in sudden pain, as their bones shattered into hundreds of fragments inside their bodies, and then started digging their way out, to condense into a large sphere in front of Gjalder, ready for him to send out as a weapon powered by Alteration should he require it.

The remaining ten or so bandits, however, had a much more immediate reaction.

They ran away. Very quickly. Screaming for the aid of their Maker to protect them from this demon.

All in all, the reaction was greater than he had anticipated. It was a Shout designed as much for damaging the psyche of his enemies as their flesh, but this was a greater reaction than it had ever been in Tamriel.

"Hmpfh," he grunted, intrigued at their reaction, "I wonder if their greater reaction is due to the greater mistrust towards magic and those who wield it here over the last millennium? Most curious…" he said, mainly thinking out loud.

"What, w-what was that?" Ellana exclaimed, surprised and startled by this show of power from the charming foreigner who had so quickly become part of her inner circle. She looked around, wide-eyed, even for an elf of Thedas, and saw Cassandras eyes tense in suspicion, Solas looking at the man with sheer curiosity, and Varric looking very perturbed at his friends sudden magic use.

Gjalder had been relishing their reactions, they were as great as he had hoped, and started on his explanation.

"That Ellana, was a Shout, a form of Soul-Magic wielded by my people, and my kin especially. By focusing our will and power through a Shout, we can bend reality to our will. That specific Shout is one I made myself. It is designed to reduce the number of enemies, both through the obvious, and the less obvious effects."

"The 'Obvious and less-obvious'? Explain yourself. And then explain why you never told me of this strange power of yours." Well then. Ellana seemed quite angry at his actions.

"Ahem, yes, well, you see…" Gjalder started, a little put off, he had never managed to stand fast in the presence of a woman he liked. Serana was proof of that, in the end he'd never been able to deny her anything.

His explanation was cut short however, as he was suddenly overcome with a wracking coughing fit, his skin felt like it was on fire, his bones started feeling as though they were about to break. He was feeling weak, weaker than he had ever been before, and he could feel himself slipping out of his saddle.

He landed on the ground with a loud ' _ **THUMP**_ ', shaking from the pain, struggling to stay conscious, feeling as though he was being thrown from a blizzard into a raging fire, then into a thunderstorm.

The last he heard before his world faded to black was a voice crying out before he hit the ground and lost consciousness was a voice crying out his name.

And then he saw no more. 

**Okay! Chapter five done! Massive loss of interest in this chapter from my side, sorry! But I blame Bioware. The Hinterlands are just so meh.**

 **The Shout used in this chapter is one that I thought of, it means "Bone Shatter Come", and I thought of it as a way to remove several enemies in quick succession from the fight, able to use the bones shards from your deceased foes as projectiles through the might of the Alteration school.**

 **The next chapter will deal with some of the fallout from Gjalder showing just what he can do, and his sudden sickness. And move out of the Hinterlands. Val Royeux, here we come!**


	6. Val Royeaux

_**The Beginning of a New Era**_

Chapter 6

Val Royeaux

Gjalder woke, startled by his strange dreams. People – _strange people_ – wishing to speak with him on any number of things, some as benign as the weather, others of ways of gaining great and terrible powers.

Hmph. He had enough of those, and could gain more on his own if he wanted.

But his dreams… They had been so _vivid_. They left a lingering feeling that what had happened in them was _real_. Like when Azura or Vaermina spoke to him.

' _Or Herma-Mora_ ', he thought, wryly.

And then there was the strange… _Thing_ , at the edge of knowing, in the corner of his eyes. A shadow, hiding where it thought itself safe from discovery.

He tried to get up, but found he was stymied by blankets and furs, wrapped so tightly around him that he could barely get a proper breath of air. Bah. Nothing a Shout couldn't fix.

' _feim zii gron_ ', he whispered with his Su'um, feeling his body become incorporeal.

And feeling as though he stood far, _far_ too close to a roaring fire.

' _What? What is happening to me?_ ' This could not be. He was Dovahkiin. He was Doom-Driven. Shezzarine. So many titles, all worthless in the face of this.

And as quick as the searing pain had come, it was gone.

It did trigger something, however.

A flash of memory soared through his mind, almost too quick for him to notice.

And then he _remembered_. Remembered what had happened when he used his Bone-Breaker Shout on the bandits in the forest.

' _Related to the amount of power, then? But how? I draw from within myself. Within… Myself. No. It cannot be._ '

The thought shook him. Was he, _somehow_ , losing his soul? His power? His very being? No one could do that. Not even Akatosh could wield such power, he and the other Divines were forced by their actions to remain in the spheres.

They could bestow gifts, and choose champions as his own _Bormah_ had done with him. As had been done two – or was it three? – centuries ago with the Champion of Cyrodiil.

They could not – _would not_ – simply strip such things from their children. It was simply unthinkable.

So what was it? He didn't know. But he was going to find out.

All these thoughts went through his mind in the span of a few seconds, even as he went _through_ the blankets and furs he was wrapped in, and made his way to were the light shone through the darkness. There were smaller patches of light coming through both the walls and the low ceiling, and he could feel the room moving, so he assumed he was in a wagon of some sort.

Heh. Even with the pain from his Shouts, it was still better than the last time he'd woken up in a carriage.

He was about to create a ball of Magelight, before he hesitated. If his Shouts ripped and tore at him so, would magic do the same?

Only one way to find out, he supposed, as he created the ball of light, and had it hover just above and behind him.

No pain. No heat. Good. He could still wield the powers of Aetherius at least.

He quickly looked around the suddenly bright interior, quickly finding the exit, using it to… Exit the wagon.

Only to be greeted with angry shouting as soon as he emerged. Oh boy.

"What are you doing up!" That was Ellana, worried anger.

"Are you sure you should be up already Silver?" Varric, slightly confused but willing to humor him.

"Get back inside, now." The ever-angry Seeker Cassandra.

Those three started shouting at him at the same time, only to be interrupted by Solas, as calm as ever.

"You seem to be doing remarkably well, given that you were so near to death earlier. But there is something… Different, about you."

Ahh, the Egg, insightful and cryptic. As was his custom.

"It feels as though your Fade-presence has suddenly become much more vivid, you feel more like a mage than a normal person now. But that isn't possible. No one has ever just _become_ a mage like that. You just can't."

A Fade-presence? He could hear the capitalization there. The Fade was what the big hole in the sky lead to.

A flash of memory.

The Breach. That sickly green color. That was what had pulled him from Aetherius to here.

"Yes I agree Solas," that was Ellana, what did she agree with? He hadn't been paying attention. "he feels like a mage now. Maybe he already had the potential, but it just hadn't sprung forth before? Not all of us can control our gift at a young age."

"While there are those in who magic springs forth late, they are few, and from my travels in the Fade, never, not even in Elvhenhan did it emerge so late as in him."

"But it _has_ , Solas. Look, we're almost at Haven, Leliana, Josephine and Cullen probably have news for us, but we have to deal with this. What do you say that we pick this up again tomorrow?"

' _Oh sure, ignore me, the one you're talking about. Joors._ ' Gjalder was less than pleased being talked about as if he wasn't there.

"I, yes, I think that will be for the best, Herald." Solas finally relented. _Joy_. "Tomorrow then."

"If you two are quite done discussing my future, how far are we from Haven?"

,They at least had the decency to look embarrassed about it. Ellana did, anyways, Solas was the same calm Egg he always was.

"Uhm, yes, uh, sorry Gjalder, we'll be in Haven in about an hour or two at this rate."

0o0o0o0

Gjalder had hurried to his Elder Scroll, to try and find out what had happened to him, why his Shouts pained him so.

What he found was disconcerting.

His limited skill with Elder Scrolls was enough to gleam bits and pieces from them, and according to what he discovered, the Breach into the Fade had _also_ caused a slight tear in the liminal barriers between dimensions.

A very unstable tear.

This crack in the wall between realities sought to be filled, and called any power it could to itself, as though it was an evil, soul-sucking magnet.

That was why his Shouts had become torture. When he released the power within, it would be jerked towards the Breach, before he could finally, subconsciously call it back.

So, not lost at least. That was good to know.

He also found out, that since he had been flung through a tear between Aetherius and the Fade, and then between the Fade and the physical world here, he had picked up an affinity to their magic. He could wield it now.

It was different from the magics of his home. Almost _alive_.

He'd have to ask Solas why this was. And to train him. He could already do much of the same things with his own magic, but some of the things he had seen Solas and Ellana do, he knew he had no counter to.

What the Scroll did _not_ inform him of however, was how to fix the damn tear so he could resume his work. His very boring work.

Maybe he could find a way to travel between the two worlds? He'd have to find out.

He would also have to get used to sleeping regularly. The Fade was the realm of dreams, which explained why his last one had been so vivid. If he did not sleep, he would not be able to maintain a proper connection to it, and as such he would not be able to wield its powers at their full potential.

And Gjalder hated it when he was ineffective, no matter what it was.

So he decided to go to sleep, and to try and sleep through the night. He couldn't even remember when the last time he'd done that was.

0o0o0o0

Gjalder had to admit, sleeping through the night was refreshing. And unlike in his youth, he now had complete control over his dreams. He had always felt that sleep was a waste of time for him, time that could be spent much more productively researching some new ways of magic or delving into old ruins for answers.

Ah well. Time to get up. He had to find out what Ellana and her little council were going to do to close the Breach.

Hmph. They didn't even realize that they followed her, yet. They would, one day.

0o0o0o0

It wasn't long after Gjalder left his dwelling, Fang and Claw around his waist but otherwise unarmed and unarmored, that Cassandra found him. _Joy_.

"There you are, I've been looking for you for half an hour now, were leaving. Armor up and get to the main gate."

He shot her shot her a bemused look, before simply asking where they were supposed to be going.

"Val Royeaux, the capital of Orlais. The remaining mothers of the Chantry are trying to declare the Inquisition a heretical order, despite being founded on the orders of Divine Justinia. We had a meeting with the Herald and Mother Gisella last night and decided that the five of us should go."

"All five hmm? Ah well, should be interesting enough. I'll go grab my equipment then. I will be ready in five minutes. I'll be at the gates."

And just like that, they were off. On horses. Gjalder had never liked riding, he could run for much longer than a horse, and the horses of Skyrim were mainly bred for labor, not riding.

Oh, he'd ridden one the day they left the Hinterlands, but after that he'd been unconscious for a goodly while and in a wagon.

So, he was quite surprised at how the horse that had been prepared for him looked.

It was nearly as large as the horses back home in Skyrim, but it was clear, even to his untrained eyes that this was not some draft-horse, but a finely trained warhorse, bred for battle.

This world just got better and better.

0o0o0o0

They were on the road to Val Royeaux for a week, making sure not to ride their steeds too hard, so as not to tire them. Gjalder was quickly starting to grow close to his own horse, despite how ridiculous it seemed to him.

He'd even named the damn thing, _Felniir_ , winter, for its pale coat.

Beyond his antics with his horse, the trip to Orlais was a quiet thing, with most of his days commandeered by Ellana and Solas as they taught him the magical theory of Thedas, and how to wield the Fade.

On the last day of their little trip, Ellana and Solas had decided that he had progressed enough for him to use combat magic, and help them in fights with more than his steel.

Well, not _steel_ , he couldn't remember the last time he had wielded steel weapons, but the point was the same.

0o0o0o0

Val Royeaux was an interesting city, to say the least. The people here sounded like – and looked like – Bretons, but the architecture was much more like that of the Alinor than that of High Rock.

And the people acted a lot like the Altmer as well, he mused.

It didn't take very long to get to their destination, a round plaza occupied by shops and merchants stalls. In the center was a tall tower, but for what reason Gjalder could not fathom.

And at the other end there was a lovely podium, with one of their priests standing on top of it, shouting something about heresy or blasphemy at her audience.

Or, she _did_ , until a man that Cassandra identified as Lord Seeker Lucius went up to her, punched her in the face, and then left along with all the Templars and Seekers in the area.

Ellana went over to the downed woman, helping her up and having what seemed to be a delightful little conversation about politics and faith, and whether Ellana really was chosen by the founder of their religion.

Once Ellana finished speaking with the priest, an elf approached her, and introduced herself as Fiona, leader of the Mage Rebellion asked the Herald to come to Redcliffe, to discuss a possible alliance between the Inquisition and the rebel mages.

And then, after the elf mage, a page arrived with an invitation to the party of someone who called herself 'Madam de Fer', who claimed to _also_ be a powerful mage, and who wished to speak with Ellana.

And then, an arrow whizzed past her face, hitting a post near her. Attached to the arrow was a note, and a red piece of cloth.

On the note was a puzzle, which Ellana quickly solved, which led her to some back alleys, where an Orlesian noble who was apparently conspiring against the Inquisition was currently organizing some of his supporters.

As well as a young elf who promptly shot him through the neck with an arrow.

Well then.

After they had dispatched his cronies, the elf said that some more guards would arrive soon.

And that they shouldn't worry, because she had apparently stolen their breeches.

What a peculiar elf.

0o0o0o0

After that whole _debacle_ with the young she-elf, who was named Sera, they went to a party, thrown by a well-known, politically savvy mage.

Who turned out to be willing to join the Inquisition.

0o0o0o0

The six of them had barely left Val Royeaux, when a rider wearing Inquisition colors came galloping out of the city towards them.

"My lady Herald," the young man gasped, "We have received word from, _huff_ , Sister Nightingale, there is a, _huff_ , mercenary company offering its services to the Inquisition. She requests that you meet with their leader before you return to Haven."

Ellana waited for the man to get his breath back, before asking him where this mercenary band was.

"They should be in the Hinterlands my lady, but Sister Nightingale doesn't know for how long."

Joy. They were going _back_ to the Hinterlands.

0o0o0o0

The trip back to the damned Hinterlands took them almost two weeks, which annoyed Gjalder greatly. Gods-damned Hinterlands. At least they weren't going to stay for long this time.

The trip might even be calm, with no one getting at each other's throats, or strangers attacking them, or picking up _more_ strays.

As if. His life had never been that simple in Mundus, and it didn't look like it was going to be that way in Thedas.

0o0o0o0

His suspicions proved correct, as they always seemed to.

Unsurprisingly, the weird she-elf Sera and the very traditional Egg did not get along.

Nor did Sera and the politician-mage, Vivienne.

Or Vivienne and Egg.

Gjalder himself was at least neutral with the damn woman. He wasn't going to determine what he thought of the woman in two weeks, not when on the road at least.

Once they reached the base camp in the Hinterlands, _another_ Inquisition scout approached them with news from ' _Sister Nightingale, my lady_ ', this time about the fact that apparently every Orlesian member of a group called the Grey Wardens had disappeared.

Except one, who was, of course, in the blasted _Hinterlands_.

Divines but he hated this place.

Leliana wanted Ellana to try and recruit the Warden, that he might aid the Inquisition. Gjalder didn't really know the difference that one, seemingly normal, man could make, but he kept in mind that many had once thought the same of him.

Granted, he _was_ rather unique, but still.

0o0o0o0

The scout told them of the location of the 'Bulls Chargers Mercenary Company', a bit further into the valley from the camp, where they were apparently fighting a group of 'Vints', whatever those were.

At least he might get to fight a little bit today, he thought.

He did not. The Chargers were finishing off the surviving Vints as they arrived in the valley, giving them a bit of a show, at the very least.

Their leader though, he was interesting. Gjalder had never seen a Qunari before, and it was by far the strangest looking person he had met in this world.

Standing taller than Gjalder himself, no mean feat, an eye-socket covered by a patch, and horns going out so far to the sides of his head as to be almost ridiculous, he was certainly exotic, even compared to the beast-races of Nirn.

And a good fighter as well. Always a bonus.

The qunari spoke with Ellana for a while, Gjalder picking up only fragments of their conversation. Something about 'Money sorting itself out', her 'needing someone on the front line with her', and him, apparently, being a spy for his people.

An interesting creature, to say the least.

After the Chargers, minus Bull, had left for Haven, the lot of them went to find this Grey Warden supposed to be in the area.

Maybe he _would_ have a good fight today. He doubted it though. Their little group had not run into anything truly dangerous yet.

He wasn't wrong. They found the Warden, a human by the name of Blackwall, who had a beard that put those of some Nords to shame. Not Gjalders own, of course, but still. He always gave credit where it was due.

Blackwall and Ellana spent a while talking, and in the end, he decided that that the Wardens being absent from fighting something they weren't meant to fight was almost as bad as fighting for it. Somehow.

So, they picked up another stray. At least he would have more people to talk to while they returned to Haven.

0o0o0o00o0o0o00o0o0o0

 **So, that was the sixth chapter. After a month. Sorry. Life-stuff and writers block. Joy. At least I have a good idea of what I want for the next two chapters, so those probably wont take as long. Probably. Hopefully.**

 **Oh, and sorry if the dialogue isn't very good. Aspergers and anxiety does not for healthy conversations make. At least I can describe** _ **a**_ **characters thoughts and stuff well.**

 **So, uhh, leave a review? Those things always make me guilty about not writing more stuff faster, so I usually write a little whenever I get one.**

 **Cheers!**


	7. Time and Tevinters

_**The Beginning of a New Era**_

 **Chapter Seven**

 **Time and Tevinters**

Gjalder's head shot up, awake in an instant. Something was wrong.

He sat there in silence, thinking about this feeling he had. He had no clue as to what had caused it, but he knew it was right. Something was _wrong_. Something that shouldn't be possible, had happened. To the north, he thought. What could it be?

He would have told Ellana, although he was loath to tell her, or anyone else here for that matter, of the things he could do. At least until whatever tried to take his Shouts away had been dealt with.

But Ellana had left, taking Cassandra, The Iron Bull and Varric with her, to speak with the leader of the Rebel Mages in Redcliffe. The 'Inner Circle', as they were called, hoped to use the combined power of hundreds of mages, to channel it through Ellana, and close the Breach.

Gjalder had chosen to stay behind, seeking to better understand the thing. He was certain that it had been what pulled him here, that the energies involved had reached out, to the Void-Beyond he had been journeying through, and thrown him to the ground of this Thedas of theirs, with the strange elves, with the dwarves-who-were-not-Dwemer, with the beast-race that looked like strange orcs.

He got up. He had better things to do than think further on the differences between Thedas and Nirn.

As Gjalder rose from his bedding, he looked around and sighed. The hut that he had been given was so like one of the many outbuildings he'd constructed at his house of Lakeview Manor, small, well built, efficient. He got himself out the door, to a sight not at all like home. A sight of a broken sky.

Without a word he started on the path to the epicenter, what he had been told was called the 'Temple of Sacred Ashes', people parting around him. He was given quite a bit of respect by being one of the few that Ellana brought with her when she went on an outing. Enough that they got out of his way and didn't try to waste his time with pointless chatter when he was out and about.

The walk wasn't long, but neither was it short. It was enough for him to clear his head of the sense of wrongness that still permeated the world around him. He could ignore it, but he couldn't make it go away.

When he arrived at the strange crater, with the red Lyrium crystals striking out of the ground, malevolent energies swirling inside and around them, he paused. Lyrium was such a strange thing. Powerful. Dangerous. It was like physical magic, and anyone who touched the normal variant, which glowed a beautiful, soft, blue, and weren't resistant to its effects – namely the Dwarves and Mages – would face a dire fate.

The red stuff though, that was worse. He'd heard the stories passed around by some of Commander Curly's Templars, of what a handful of the stuff had done in Kirkwall, of the devastation that had been wrought.

No-one knew what would happen if a Mage were to use the red Lyrium instead of the ordinary stuff, but he assumed that the results would be… Less than pleasing, for everyone involved.

Although, he did wonder. According to Curly Cullen, just a few short years ago, all the red Lyrium on the surface could fit in the palm of his hand. And now, it just grew out of the bloody ground, like the spikes in the Deadlands.

He would bet Drakes to doornails that the red stuff and the Breach were connected.

Gjalder stood there, in the ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes for hours, contemplating what had happened, thinking about how to return to Nirn. When he looked straight at the Breach from here, it was as if something was calling out to him, something that he knew he ought to recognize, but for some reason didn't. It annoyed him greatly.

In the end, he came to the conclusion that simply staring at the damn thing and thinking would get him no further, and decided to follow one of his old 'Rules of Adventuring', namely 'Most problems can be solved with magic'.

He was unsure what to start with though, normally he would start off by Shouting at it, but with his soul feeling as though it was being torn from him whenever he did that…

Except it hadn't always done so here, He had used his Voice to hide his Elder Scroll and had felt none of the repercussions from doing so. Was it because his Bone-Breaker Shout needed that much more power that it started the process, or was it some other, external factor?

He gazed up. Maybe the Breach had more ramifications than he thought.

' _To Oblivion with it!_ ' he decided and shouted at the Breach.

" _ **FUS RO DAH!**_ " he roared, as he felt more than saw his power soar to the heavens, his aim as true as ever as it struck the heart of the Breach.

There was no change in him, no feeling as though his soul was being torn. The feeling from the Breach did change, however, and he realized why it felt familiar.

Shouting at the Breach with Unrelenting Force, seemed to have deepened the _sensation_ from the other side, and made it stronger.

It was the Darkness of what-was-beyond, the lack-of-is of that which hid behind the walls of the Immaterium.

But behind it, he could feel the soft glow of Aetherius, and he _knew_. He knew he could find a way back. He knew he could find a way to restore his power, to wield his _Su'um_ as it was meant to be wielded.

And he hoped. He hoped that he could make it permanent. He hoped he could find a way to travel from Tamriel to Thedas and back again, at will. He liked what he had seen of this land so far, and their magic and history was so very interesting.

It was like when he had first stumbled upon the ruins of Old Ehlnofey, as though a door had been opened, to a library of esoteric knowledge he had never even though of before.

Granted, Old Ehlnofey was just that, _old_ , and the only things that remained made the Atmoran ruins seem young, but still. There had been so much to learn then, and so much to learn now.

And so Gjalder stayed near the Breach for hours, studying it, from the closest position he could find. He threw spells at it, both those of Mundus and those of the Fade, and he tried out his Shouts, seeking to find out if it was simply his first Shout that worked, or all of them.

And it was all of them. As long as he was near the Breach, his power was as pure as it had ever been.

By the time he was finished trying out his Shouts, the sky had grown dark and day was swiftly yielding to the night, so he decided to return to Haven, sleep, grab supplies and come back the next day.

As he walked out of Haven the day after, a small tent packed on his back, a satchel full of food slung across his chest and a bedroll on his shoulders, he didn't notice Solas standing in the shadows of a small copse of trees, watching him with an interested eye.

0o0o0o0

Ellana was angry and confused as she rode into Haven ten days later. Her meeting with the Grand Enchanter had not gone well, mainly due to an interfering Tevinter Magister by the name of Gereon Alexius, who, according to his old protégé, had mangled _time itself_ just to deny her the opportunity to speak with the Rebel Mages.

And on top of that, his volatile experimental magic had somehow altered the Rifts around Redcliffe, making time all wobbly around them, speeding up one moment, slowing down the next.

Alexius had unleashed madness upon the world. And only the Inquisition knew about it and Alexius' former apprentice, Dorian knew. It was up to them – to _her_ – to put a stop to it.

As she turned to go to her cabin, she noticed out of the corner of her eye that Cassandra was giving orders to one of the guards posted at the gates.

"Ellana!" she shouted as the guard turned away, "I am calling for a meeting with the Inner Circle. We'll be ready to convene in the chantry in about an hour," the olive-skinned woman finished, looking around for another guard to traumatize, Ellana thought.

But in an hour, they were ready, her friends and leaders of the nascent Inquisition all standing ready around the war table… With one absence.

"Where is Gjalder?" Ellana asked the room, when she didn't see the – rather noticeable – large man anywhere.

"He went to the Breach almost two weeks ago," Solas said, "with all the supplies one could want for a rather long-term stay. I believe he is studying it," he mused.

Ellana groaned. _Why_ they couldn't all be in town at the same time she didn't know.

"Then send a rider out there and get him back here, he's going to want to hear this," she said.

0o0o0o0

It took Gjalder about two hours to return from the temple, the rider giving him his horse, where he was met by a very displeased Ellana. She didn't say anything, but he didn't need an Elder Scroll to foresee that there would be stern words in the future.

So, he followed a silent Ellana through Haven, finally reaching the Chantry.

"Now that we are all, _finally_ , gathered, this," she said, gesturing to a foppish looking man with the same skin tone as an Imperial, "is Dorian, who has some rather interesting things to say."

The story left Gjalder horrified. Headstrong mortals, meddling with time? This had to have been what he had felt to the north.

" _Skeever licking Joors! Defiling what is so far beyond them!_ " he cursed in common Tamrielic, "Ellana, I will be one of your group this time," he said, not taking no for an answer.

"Ah, yes, well, I fear that I'll have to go as well, my dear," the dainty not-Imperial said, "you are unlikely to find another as knowledgeable of Alexius as I."

Ellana sighed, why did she have to do those things? She was only part of it because she'd fallen out of the Breach!

"Fine. Varric you're coming with as well, if I have to go with those two I need someone to distract me on the way."

And that was that.

0o0o0o0

He'd known when he told Ellana that going with her meant going back to the Hinterlands, but consoled himself at the time with the fact that they were going there on horseback this time, easily cutting the travel time down from 'insufferable weeks' to 'annoying days'.

Still, he missed the days when he and Serana, Daughter of Coldharbour and Shezzarine, ran across the reaches of his homeland, both of them capable of running at a steady pace for days and fighting a skirmish at the end.

Not so anymore. He was getting used to it, but sleeping every night still felt odd to him.

More unsettling were the creatures that stalked his dreams, some taking shapes of beautiful women from his past, others of nameless horrors.

And one, always lingering at the edge, once a formless shadow but now growing more and more distinct, a dark, four-legged figure with far too many eyes.

He urged his horse onwards, that he might speak with the flamboyant one. He needed to find a single name to call him by.

"Ah, the esteemed stranger, here to talk to little old me? I'm honored," the man said, his mouth curving up into an easy smile.

"Mhmm. You are a mage, Dorian Pavus, are you not?"

"I am, but why do you ask? It isn't something I hide."

"Because I had a question, one only a mage can answer."

"Well, now you've gone and gotten me intrigued my tall friend! What has you bothered?"

Gjalder rode in silence for a few seconds, trying to put his thoughts in order, before finally speaking.

"Does a mage ever gain control of their dreams? Full control?"

"Some do, yes, but they are few and far between. They are called Dreamers and are incredibly powerful. The greatest magisters in the Imperium were Dreamers, and it was they who brought us to glory in the ancient times."

"And what, then, of the other things in the dreams? The creatures that offer power and wealth, peace and joy, whatever my heart desires? The ones that take the shapes of old friends? Can I force them out somehow?"

That made the man pause. "Spirits are trying to make deals with you whilst you sleep?" he asked.

"Deals and what's worse, aye, but they don't bother me, I've made deals with Clavicus Vile, schemed against Mephala and even managed to wriggle out of a deal with Herma-Mora. What bothers me," he said, closing his eyes and tilting his face upwards, "is the many-eyed shadow that stalks them. It says nothing, does nothing. It is simply there. And I want it gone."

The not-Imperial rode on, his brows drawn together in a frown, his lips pursed.

"I, I don't truly know if you can. Truth be told, I didn't even know you were a mage. Us ordinary mages never gain the form of control that a Dreamer does, but we still learn some things. I believe," he added hesitantly, "that in time, you may be able to force it out, but I do not truly know, I'm sorry."

"Bah," Gjalder said with a wave of his hand, "you have answered my questions, and more besides. The rest is up to me. But I thank you, nonetheless."

"You're welcome," the other man said, his mind obviously wandering elsewhere as Gjalder let his steed fall back so he could think on his issues alone.

His dreams _would_ be made secure. He would see to it.

0o0o0o0

They were finally there. Redcliffe. He had studied the maps of the land, of course, and understood why it was an important defensive fixture, but understanding something from maps and military treatises and seeing it, those were two very different things.

It was a large fortress, set on an island not far from the shore of the township which shared the name of the keep.

And apparently, the only way to the fortress was by crossing a very long bridge.

Except that the Inquisition's spymaster, the lovely sister Nightingale, had adventured in the areas a decade earlier, following the Hero of Ferelden in their quest to save the world.

The township had been assaulted each night by the undead, the ruler, an arl Eamon deathly ill, his son possessed by a powerful demon which was responsible for all that happened. The Hero had discovered a way into the keep without crossing the bridge, by going through an old windmill, of all things.

Wasn't that funny. His own escape route after he had murdered emperor Titus Mede II was through a small windmill, which concealed a tunnel out of the city of Solitude. Small world. Well, worlds.

And now it would be used to infiltrate the place again, by one of the same people. The snake bit its own tail and the cycle continued. Sister Nightingale would take several of her agents with her and subdue the guards in the room where they would meet – Alexius was one who fancied himself important, much more so than any who couldn't wield magic, so it would undoubtedly be in the throne room.

Then, Ellana would tell him to surrender, take the rebel mages, and they would all return to Haven to close the Breach.

Gjalder quickly checked his blade in its sheath. In his experience, things like this never went according to plan.

0o0o0o0

Some snooty looking man was blocking her and her – what, party? Friends? Followers? – path towards Alexius, stating that she, and only she had been invited.

"If they stay, I stay," she told the annoying man, very aware of the two masked guards on his sides, even more so when Gjalder shifted, almost imperceptibly, and said a single word.

"Cultists."

Elgar'nan, why was her life so difficult all of a sudden? One moment she had been the First of her clan, now she was seen as a religious leader – of another faith!

The man waited for a second, then two, then three, before standing aside and letting them pass.

And they walked about ten feet before they came face to face with Alexius who was reclining on the arl's throne.

 _Why even bother stopping us?_

"My lord magister, the agents of the Inquisition have arrived," the man announced.

"My friend! It is so good to see you again," the magister said as he stood up from his seat, "and your, associates, as well, of course," he added after a small pause, barely hiding his annoyance that she had brought the others.

"I am sure we can find some arrangement that is… equitable, to all parties," he continued.

"Are we mages to have no voice in deciding our fate?" the Grand Enchanter said, coming up from the side.

 _Where was she hiding?_

"Fiona, you would not have turned your followers over to my care if you did not trust me with their lives," Alexius replied in a stern voice.

"If the Grand Enchanter wants to be part of these talks, I shall welcome her as a guest of the Inquisition," she quickly intervened, getting a thankful look from her fellow elf, and a dismissive hand wave from Alexius who was sitting down again.

 _Trying to take authority from a fancy chair, Tevinter?_

"The Inquisition needs mages to close the Breach, and I have them. So, what shall you offer in exchange?"

"I'd much rather discuss your time magic," she said, causing Gjalder to growl approvingly… she thought.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," the magister replied.

"She knows everything, Father," the mans until now silent son explained.

"Oh Felix, what have you done?" the magister sounded so, tired.

"Your son is concerned that you're involved in something terrible, Alexius!"

"So speaks the thief," the man sneered, "do you think you can turn my own son against me?"

He got up, his face heated, "You walk into _my_ stronghold with your stolen Mark, a gift you don't even understand, and you think you're in control?" he ranted, the words coming out quickly now, "You're nothing but a mistake!"

"If you know so much about this Mark on my hand, why don't you enlighten us?" she asked, seeing movement in the shadowed corners of the room, Leliana's men were moving into position, she had to keep his attention.

"It belongs to your betters! You wouldn't even _begin_ to understand its purpose," came the man's angry response.

"Father listen to yourself! Do you know what you sound like?"

"He sounds exactly like the sort of villainous cliché everyone expects us to be," came her newest acquaintance's voice.

 _Where are they coming from? Did he hide in the pillars?_

"Dorian," oh, the disappointment was back, "I gave you a chance to be a part of this, _you turned me down_. The Elder One has power you will not believe, and he will raise the Imperium from its own ashes!"

She saw Gjalder frown out of the corner of her eyes, muttering something in his own language.

"What's better than turning back time?" she asked the room, lifting her arms in a shrug.

"He will make the world bow to mages once more! We will rule from the Boeric Ocean to the Frozen Seas!" he said, his voice taking on the fire of the devout.

"You can't involve my people in this!" Fiona shouted.

"Alexius, this is _exactly_ what you and I talked about never wanting to happen! How could you support this!" Dorian exclaimed.

She heard a 'thwack!' from behind her and heard a soft 'thud'. She smiled. They were in position.

"Stop it Father! Leave the Venatori, let the southern mages close the Breach and _let's go home_!"

"No! It is the only way to save you Felix!" Oh. Not faith, hope. His son was sick?

"Save me?" his son said, sounding almost affronted.

"There _is_ a way, the Elder One promised! If I undo the mistake at the Temple -" "I am going to die, Father, you need to accept that!"

But Alexius ignored his son. "Seize them, Venatori! The Elder One demands that woman's life!"

Ellana felt no fear. One of them were dead already, her troops in position, the magisters command heralding not his own forces assault, but a series of arrows and thrust daggers, the Tevinters arrayed around the room's columns falling in heaps of tangled limbs.

She couldn't help herself, "Your men are dead, magister," she taunted him.

"No! You are a mistake! You should never have existed! I will not let my work, my sacrifices, be undone by some interloping primitive!" he said, his voice softer than at any point in their conversation, the power of the Fade coming into being around his gauntleted right hand, an strange, square amulet suddenly appearing.

Whatever he was doing, Dorian obviously recognized it, for he threw himself in front of her, the same type of magic coiling around him as he shouted "No!" and sent a bolt of it at Alexius, knocking him back and disturbing his spell.

And then she was falling.

0o0o0o0

She woke to a soft, red light. Red Lyrium had sprouted up in crystals around… wherever she was. A quick look informed her that there was nothing in the room with except for a bundle of clothes on the floor.

"Urrrrghhh," came from the clothes as they rolled over, revealing Dorian on the ground, looking incredibly nauseous.

"Need a hand?" she asked him as he flopped onto his back.

"Remind me," he got out between pants as he reached out for her arm, "never to interrupt hostile time magic again, will you?" he looked around. "Where are we, anyways?"

"How should I know? I only just woke up."

"Hmm, at least we seem to have an exit," he said as he pointed to a ruined doorway.

The two of them went there in silence, both having a hard time comprehending the difference in atmosphere from just before. The whole placed seemed… dead.

After several minutes of wandering around, their only light being conjured fire, they finally found a stairwell that took them to the surface.

It was a world gone mad. The Breach had spread across the sky, the raw wound into the Fade gaping hugely no matter where you looked, unnatural green light having fought off the sun itself.

"What happened here…" Ellana mumbled.

"I think," Dorian started, "I think I know. The amulet Alexius was using, it was one we made together, to help harness temporal energies using magic. I believe that he used it to send us forward, into the future," he said, his olive face unnaturally pale.

"So, what, this is what happens if we fail? We can't let this happen Dorian, we have to find a way back!" Ellana exclaimed.

"Yes, yes, and I think – Yes! I've got it! If we can get our hands on the amulet, I can refocus the magic to bring us to its last use rather than a chosen destination!"

"So now we just have to find it," she replied with a wry smile, his enthusiasm getting to her despite the depressing atmosphere.

"Yes, well, that will be the easy part I believe, time magic has certain imprint to it, and I think I can narrow down its location. As longs as it isn't too far away, that is," he added under his breath.

"Do it then, we need to –"

A voice cut her off, harsh like gravel going through a meat grinder, yet also soft as a whisper, caressing her bones.

" _El-la-na,"_ it rumbled through her very being, _"I wait. The broken tower,"_ it said, disappearing as suddenly as it came.

"Did you hear that?" she squeaked despite her best effort at controlling her voice.

"Did I hear the voice calling your name then speaking elvish? No, not at all, my dear. What did it say?"

"That it waited in the broken tower," she replied shakily.

"Well, that seems to be where the amulet is as well, so that's something.

It didn't take them long to find the 'broken tower'. It was what remained of the tallest point of the keep, its roof and part of the stonework floating at an angle in the free air.

As they made their way, Ellana couldn't look away from the utter devastation around her. The Breach would do all this if it wasn't stopped.

In the lands beyond, she could see green meteors falling from the sky, tails of fire behind them, impacting the ground as they had when she first woke up with the damned Mark. Only…

The keep itself was free of any sort of danger, something that puzzled her until she saw one of the demons coming straight towards them – and then a bolt of lightning shot out from _somewhere_ in the ruins, destroying the would-be attacker.

When they finally made it to the top of the tower, she didn't know what she expected. Alexius, maybe, sitting there and gloating. Elgar'nan, perhaps, come to give divine advice.

She did not expect an emaciated old man, his clothes sagging around him, sitting in a throne, looking too weak to move.

" _Ellana,"_ he croaked out in Elvhen, his voice so weak, _"I knew you would come, one day,"_ he got out between coughs. _"So, I waited by the Tiid-Ahraan for your return. It has been a long time, fahliil."_

It was _Gjalder_. Speaking perfect Elvhen, save for the words in that strange language of his, the ones that had ripped the bones from a group of bandits.

"How are you here, Gjalder?"

" _Tiid bo, Ellana. Time does not sit still."_

"I hate to interrupt, but what lovely things are the two of you talking about? The only elvish I speak are a few select curses," the self-deprecating voice of her Tevinter companion came.

"It is Gjalder, Dorian. He says that he has waited here for use. For how long?"

" _Lingrah tiid. A century, two? I do not know. Prem. I wait."_

"By the Creators…"

"What, Ellana?"

"He, he says that he has waited for us to arrive for at least a century."

"Nobody lives that long, not even the Dalish elves, Ellana, he can't have been here that long," he replied gently.

" _Nid joor, alkos. I can. Ellana, listen. I have advice, and a request."_ Gjalder said as he stared intently at her. She noticed that his silver eyes had given way to the milky white of blindness.

"Advice? What advice?"

" _I have the bein kagaav that the mage used. Promise to fulfill my request, and I will tell you all I can."_

"I promise, Gjalder."

" _Good. Listen. The Orlesian empress will be assassinated, throwing their nation further into civil war. The guardians against disease will summon an army of demons under the control of a madman. You must stop them both. This is what I know. Thun do tiid gron orin zey. I cannot tell you more."_

"By the Dread Wolf…"

"What is he saying?"

"Later Dorian!"

"Bloody elves…"

"Gjalder, what was your request?" she asked of him.

" _It is simple. I want you to kill me. Release me from this living hell."_

"I – Kill you? No! I won't do that Gjalder!" she exclaimed, shocked, a mystified Dorian mouthing 'kill him?' in the background.

" _Then you will never return. Tiid bo. Time moves, without me, the amulet will not return you."_

"Forgive me on intruding my dears," Dorian cut in, "but you want our dear Herald to kill you to escape this fate, don't you? If we return, none of this will have happened, ergo you won't need to escape it."

" _Meyus joor._ Time is not a line, Tevinter. _Ven ni krent_. _Ellana, do you remember our talk of the Kel?"_

"The Scroll you had? Yes, why?"

" _Remember what I said. A road and travelers. All valid. You will leave this path, this cart, this time, but it remains. Free me. Kill me."_

"Oh…" she said, crestfallen. She knew she had to do it.

"What is it Ellana?"

"Even if we return to before all of this, this timeline will still exist. Gjalder will still be trapped here."

"What? None of mine or Alexius' research points to anything like that Ellana, time is linear." Dorian defended himself.

"No! You do not know, joor! I am Dov, _dii sil vaan nau ven do tiid._ I know of what I speak." His voice was still so weak, even when his words shook the world around them. It pained her to her soul.

"I, I will do it, Gjalder, but I have some more questions first," she got out.

" _Saag."_ He demanded.

"From the Breach, I saw demons falling from the sky, like they did when it first opened, raining down on the land around us, but the one that fell here was just destroyed by lightning, from within the castle. Is it something you did?"

" _Geh. Dii Thu'um buld lein wah dii fen. Ol raf gesaak, ful drey dii su'um. Yes. I gathered my power for decades and it still left me in this state."_

"Damn, it would have been useful," she mumbled.

" _Do not fret, fahdon fahliil, when you return, you will seal it."_

"You have such faith in me, but I don't know if I can do this!" she shouted at him.

" _You can. You will. You must. Only you. Ellana,"_ he hesitated, _"tell my counterpart this: Lovok kent viin zeim raf, nunon voth joor vis hi dreh daar. He will know. It will help you."_

"Lovok kent viin zeim raf, nunon voth joor vi hi dreh daar. Alright. Dorian, help me remember that, will you?" she said, getting an affirmative nod from her fellow mage.

" _Then you must go. Under my clothes, over my heart. That is where the amulet is. Bring it out, close to my head. I must use my su'um to empower it."_

She reached into his clothes, noticing again just how withered he was, before taking the amulet and holding it up in front of him. He breathed on it with a soft sigh, and she heard the words _"tiid guvok,"_ as the amulet started to glow with the same green light that it had before.

" _The other one can use it now. Time for your part Ellana. Krosis. I know this must be hard, but you must steel your heart."_

"I will Gjalder. Goodbye." And with that, she drew her knife from its sheath, plunging it into her friend and guardians' heart.

" _Zu'u bo wah Sovngarde,"_ he mumbled as what little strength he had left after centuries of isolation and confinement to his throne bled away from the wound.

"Dorian," she said, wiping the tears from her eyes with an angry gesture. _He is not gone. They are all waiting back in the throne room._ "He said that you can use it now. Let's go home."

0o0o0o0

A swirling vortex threw them back out into the throne room that they had come from.

"You'll have to do better than that," Dorian smirked, looking down at a reeling Alexius.

"Is that the best you've got?" Ellana asked him as he knelt before them.

"You've won," he said, his voice broken, "there is no point in continuing this charade," he spat, as he looked to his son. "Felix…"

"It's going to be alright father," the kind man that had helped them so said.

"You'll die," Alexius replied, the last of his resistance fading.

"Everyone dies."

Alexius spent a moment, then another, looking at his son before he looked over his shoulder at the approaching Inquisition guards, getting up and following them without resistance – or a word.

"Well, I'm glad that's over with," Dorian quipped, about to continue when heavily armored soldiers wearing the colors of the queen of Ferelden marched in, taking place along the pillars.

"Or not," he mumbled.

"Grand Enchanter! We'd like to have words discussing your… abuse of our hospitality!" the queen demanded.

"Your majesty, I…" Fiona started, wringing her hands as she went to stand in front of the angry monarch.

"When the Rebel Mages were offered sanctuary in my realm, they were not granted the right to drive people from their home," the queen interrupted.

"Queen Anora, I assure you; it was never our intention to –" "In light of your actions, Enchantress, good intentions are not enough. You and your followers will leave Ferelden peacefully, or you will be made to."

"But, my queen, we have hundreds in need of protection, where will we go?"

"The Inquisition might be willing to take in the refugees," Ellana cut in, sensing an opportunity, getting a suspicious glare from her fellow elf.

"And what are the terms of this agreement?" she queried.

"Certainly better than anything Alexius would have given you," Dorian mumbled as he walked closer.

"I've known a lot of mages; they can be loyal friends if you let them. Friends that make bad decisions, but still. Loyal." Varric added.

She looked to Gjalder, very aware of his blood on her hands – something he seemed to sense as well, if the way he watched her, like a raptor stalking its prey, was any indication.

"And you?"

"Bah, mages, templars. I do not know enough of your history to vote Ellana. My experience is that people will be people, no matter how you treat them," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"It seems that we have little choice but to accept what you have to offer, Herald," Fiona said, looking almost as broken as Alexius had.

Ellana stood and thought for a moment, knowing that this was _her_ decision, and her alone. She would take her friends advice to heart, but in the end, the choice was hers.

"We would be honored to have you fight as allies at the Inquisitions side," she stated.

"A generous offer, but will the rest of the Inquisition honor it?" Fiona asked.

"The Breach threatens all of Thedas. We cannot afford to be divided now. We can't fight it without you, any chance of success requires your full support," she added emphatically.

"It is a generous offer, one you will not receive from _us_ ," Anora added as Fiona looked at her, then Ellana and her companions, before finally staring at the floor.

"We accept. It would be madness not to. I will gather my people and ready them for the journey to Haven. The Breach will be closed, Herald. You will not regret giving us this chance.

0o0o0o0

It was a long, quiet ride back to Haven, what they had seen weighing heavily on both Ellanas and Dorians minds. She finally decided to rip off the bandage and tell Gjalder what had happened.

After she was done, she hesitantly added, "Gjalder, your counterpart, he wanted me to tell you something."

"Mhmm?"

"I don't know what it means, but here goes. Lovok kent viin zeim raf, nunon voth joor vi hi dreh daar. I hope you can use it."

Gjalder looked, well, shocked. As though she had attacked him.

"Dovahzul? Hmm, yes, I see. Thank you, Ellana," he said, turning to look her in the eyes, "This means a lot to me."

* * *

 _So! Chapter seven, after more than half a year since the last update (which was just a 'Hey! My laptop is shagged, sorry!' heh.) and on my story's birthday. *sniff*. They grow up so fast. Heh._

 _So, uh, some minor retcons, maybe, yes? Not sure. I have a far better idea of where I want the story to go now, even more so than when I started it, so that's nice._

 _I hope for more regular updates than, you know, there has been, hopefully a minimum of one per month kinda thing, especially as I looked over some of my favourite fics on the site and noticed that a lot of them have chapters with around 5-6k words each. Which this one does. And I think it is a good chapter._

 _I actually wrote most of this over a week or so (granted it was a week of vacation, but still). Pretty much everything after Haven is October-stuff. The Haven stuff? That took me so long, damn. It sucked._

 _I hope that my writing skill has improved at least a little from my early chapters – specifically the dialogue, but ehhh. The only practice I've had are other, unpublished fics that I hope/don't hope will ever be public._

 _Please review the story, criticism regarding grammar and conversational flow is especially welcome, as well as anyone who can give some tips on possessive s's. Because the rules for English and Danish are different there, and I constantly confuse them. Especially when it's been a while since I had to deal with them in a 'It's me using them' setting. Thanks!_


End file.
